


Reverie

by bornof_sorrow (wintersfire)



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat, Captive Prince - Freece
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-07
Updated: 2011-08-07
Packaged: 2017-10-26 00:00:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/276318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintersfire/pseuds/bornof_sorrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damen's asleep on the furs, but what is Laurent doing? (takes place at the very end of chapter 23)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reverie

_**Captive Prince: Laurent/Damen NC17**_  
Title: Reverie  
Pairings: Laurent/Damen,   
Rating: NC17 for swearing and some mouth/hand action. No plot, people.  
Warnings: Spoilers for Book Two Chapter 23.   
Summary: Damen's asleep on the furs, but what is Laurent doing? (takes place at the very end of chapter 23)  
Disclaimer: it all belongs to freece.  
Word count: 1400  
A/N: I wanted to write about Laurent getting some. From a comment chat with [](http://elizaben.livejournal.com/profile)[ **elizaben**](http://elizaben.livejournal.com/)  .Thanks to [](http://lusiology.livejournal.com/profile)[ **lusiology**](http://lusiology.livejournal.com/)  for the read through.

The first time it happened he was filled with disgust and weariness. He had sometimes thought that all his self-disgust must be exhausted by now only to find he had not quite plumbed the depths of his own tangled wants and the distasteful insights they brought him.

That first time, he had paced, raged and taken his anger out in flayed flesh and damaged tissue. He'd vowed that dreaming about the barbarian – about the way his touch had awoken his flesh not with hatred and anger but with stirring lust and viciousness; about the brute’s power under his intimate control – would not happen again, only to find he was helpless to stop it. He hated being helpless, yet he dreamed; hence the disgust.

The phantom Regent who plagued his thoughts, smiled his familiar disappointed smile and Laurent continued to ignore him. He looked up at the tinge of light limning the tent skins and thought about getting up. He couldn’t lie there with his prick hard and tight, his skin hot and sensitive and Damen sprawled at his side. Not without the catastrophic destruction of his plans. Damen sighed and Laurent could not prevent his head turning and a pliant breath escaping silently from his lips.

There he was, as glorious as he had been in his dream, in all his dreams. He was sprawled, as much as the tent would allow, with his legs apart, one knee hitched up and twitching. He twitched a great deal when asleep. Laurent had concluded that not even sleep could contain his energy and urge for action. The linen of the loincloth panel pooled shadowy at the juncture of his thighs and a trail of hair laced dark across the striations of his abdomen. Really, he was rather ridiculously provocative and the situation was absurd, but Laurent didn't want to laugh. Not at all.

Instead, he stifled a sigh. He blamed Halvik and her talk of mounting. So graphic a word and spoken so matter of factly. The image had insinuated itself into his brain and it would not let go; forcing flashes of golden skin, dark hair and firm muscle across his mind when he needed to assess other matters.

Over the weeks his peripheral focus had centred on the barbarian as he carried out his personal services to him. He was unable to attend fully to any other concern when he was tracing each movement and absorbing every expression as Damen worked steadily. He enjoyed his captive's absorption in his task and understood the focus was an act of discipline and will, not unlike his own in accepting the pretence.

But in this dream that tension was free and they were both exhilarated by some minor success. In this dream it had felt like that moment on the rooftops when life pulsed through them and everything was possible if they dared enough. He knew it was childish, but in this dream he did not chide himself for that; he did not calculate or plan. In _this_ dream he allowed himself his pleasure.

Laurent glanced again at the sleeping Damen. He had one arm flung above his head preventing pressure on the purple bruises across his ribs and Laurent could see that the bronze disc of his nipple was stiff. He could also see that Damen's cock was drowsy but half-hard and he knew that he would soon have to leave the tent before nature confronted them both with an awkward intimacy that could unravel the delicate equilibrium they operated within. Laurent snapped his eyes back up to the skins above him and assessed the light, then Damen, again. He had about ten minutes before Damen's twitching would turn into movement and the stirrings of another day would be upon them.

The soft fur against his skin and the warm, stale air of the tent, masculine and familiar, stroked his senses and he gave in and closed his eyes, remembering.In the dream Damen had been in the same loincloth – he looked so uncompromising and huge dressed so sparely - but his eyes were full of laughter as he preened to amuse Laurent and mocked his linen bedclothes. Laurent had promised retribution and Damen had knelt on the furs and offered himself to Laurent, simply and honestly, wreathed in smiles. Laurent's breath had stumbled in his chest and he had stroked the back of his knuckles along Damen's rough jaw before sliding his thumb into his mouth.

“I want your mouth.”

“Yes.” Damen sucked on the pad of his thumb and scraped his teeth against the cushion of flesh. He pressed Laurent back against the furs. “Then you can have it.”

Those nimble fingers had loosened the tie of his linen pants completely and drawn the fabric back, slowly revealing Laurent's cock and pale hair. Damen had slipped the fabric down until it settled into a crush of cloth just under the curve of his backside, white against the red-gold fur. Then Damen had stroked his thumbs in circles against the thin skin of his hips and Laurent had felt his blood pound through him racing to where his cock jerked eagerly towards Damen. In the dream Laurent had mumbled encouragement but in the tent he pressed his lips together and breathed steadily, determined to overcome the hammering thud of his heart with silence and control.

When Damen had taken his length into his mouth and cradled it against the devastating heat of his palate, Laurent had cried out. In the tent he curled his fingers into the bedcovers and shifted, chafing his cock against the linen, still silent. In his dream, as Laurent tossed his head and brought chaos to the bedding, Damen ummed in appreciation and slid his mouth firmly along the sweetest spots of sensation Laurent's cock could offer, each one sending wringing, clenching spasms of climbing _want_ through his body. Damen had jostled Laurent's thighs to move closer and Laurent had welcomed each press and straddle as sensation plied stimulation against his thighs, his hips, his belly and his cock, making him pant and groan, adding to their shared pleasure and lust. In the tent Laurent twitched the fur cloak over himself, ready, if necessary, to drop into fraudulent sleep and assumed calm if Damen awoke.

In the dream Laurent tangled his fingers into Damen's dark hair and directed his own pleasure between tantalising suction to the head and hard fucks into Damen's mouth, jabbing soft tissue and revelling in his satisfaction and Damen's obvious enjoyment. He gasped as his cock slipped against the silky pressure of tongue and cheek and was drawn on hard by Damen's eager mouth. He bucked forward and Damen groaned and pressed closer, his lips and tongue working the length, dragging blissful pleasure through Laurent's gut. He felt dizzy, rapturous, his heart racing faster, hips thrusting, gasps caught tight in bitten lips. Damen grabbed his cock tightly in one hand and reached to play with his soft sac with the other and Laurent burst into release.

So good. In the dream Damen sagged back and rested his head against Laurent's hip, looking pleased with himself. In the tent Laurent's cock twitched against the linen, full, hot and hard and Laurent bit his lip and scrambled up, snatched his fur cloak and moved silently into the cold pre-dawn. Pleasure and pained balls fought for his attention and he limped slightly forward, struggling with his dress to hide his arousal and headed for a line of trees around the camp clearing.

Some women were stirring but they paid him no attention as he reached the tree line. He rested his head against a trunk and thrust his hand into the linen, dragging out his cock. He twisted and pulled at it feeling tremors in his thighs from the effort of holding back, of remaining silent beside Damen. He replayed the smile of Damen's satisfaction and every drop of blood rushed to his groin. His brain blanked into white pleasure and he watched his come pulse over his hand and the smooth bark of the tree. Loops of sensation shook tension from his muscles and strength from his bones and his breath roared into his lungs, cold and sharp. Laurent hissed, hanging on to the moment of release before he took up the burden of control again.

He hitched the fur about his shoulders and made his way to more reasonable clothing somewhere in the camp. He had work to do.


End file.
